


All I Wanna Get Is a Little Bit Closer

by gnimaerd



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnimaerd/pseuds/gnimaerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Barry.” She wants to keep him, forever – she specifically wants to keep the way he’s looking at her right now and frame it and put it on her wall so she can see it every day. “Take off your pants.” Pure fluff, slightly AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Wanna Get Is a Little Bit Closer

**Author's Note:**

> If Barry had stuck around as a member of Team Arrow a little longer, I like to think that this is what would have happened. Fluff and smut and lovely, awkward, nerdy cuddles. Title from the Tegan and Sara song Closer which I listened to on repeat whilst writing this.

He asks permission before he does anything. (Felicity likes that).

And then after she gives him permission and he does the thing, he says ‘wow’ and sometimes he giggles.

(Felicity likes that even more).

Like the first time they kiss, he says, all hesitant and with blotchy red creeping up his neck: “so – um can I kiss you? Would that be weird? I mean – ”

She kisses him, and he’s sort of stiff, standing by her desk with his hands locked at his sides and his shoulders squared like a soldier at attention (she wonders how long he’s been working up the courage to ask her) so she just makes it brief and soft. Also because her knees are shaking and that’s embarrassing.

His hands go from his sides to hers, resting at he waist, very tentatively.

“Oh,” he whispers, “wow.”

And he smiles, and she gasps a nervous, self-conscious giggle and they kiss again – they kiss each other, little soft, warm, eager kisses, and she knows exactly what he means because  _oh, wow_. His careful, tentative fingers stroking the fabric of her dress and the burning heat of his neck where she clasps her hands, her thumbs rubbing against his jaw line and the way his breath hitches and the brush of his tongue against her lips and  _oh, wow._

 

And the first time they have sex, when he’s dropping her off at her apartment after their forth date (late night trip to the observatory, with a flask of coffee and notebooks for star gazing), he hovers by her doorstep and he says, “may I – ”

At exactly the same moment that she says, “do you wanna – ?”

And they both stop and shuffle, self-consciously, realising probably at the same time that the flask of coffee was a mistake because how can she ask him up for ‘coffee’ when they’ve just had some?

“- glass of water, or something?” She finishes a little limply, “I mean if you’re thirsty after the – coffee.”

He nods, vigorously, clears his throat. “Yes. Water. Thirsty. Yes.”

“Okay.”

She tries to hide her hands shaking on her keys.

“This is nice,” he says, of the empty hall just inside – the light bulb’s gone, they’re mostly in the dark.

“Yeah – I mean, thanks.”

Then she presses him against the wall and kisses him because this has got ridiculous.

He wraps his arms around her and kisses her back. He’s less hesitant to touch her now – they’ve made out twice since their first kiss, and the second time she was in his lap for a lot of it and he kept stroking her neck and he jaw, playing with her hair. He got kind of semi-hard and got really, really embarrassed and flustered when she noticed; he kept apologising. She’d have had sex with him that time but she was on her period and also then Oliver called.

(He won’t call tonight. She’s told Diggle that the world had better be  _literally ending_  – Starling must be about to be sucked into the actual hellmouth – before he lets Oliver call her tonight).

But this is it, this is definitely the night. They’ve been on four dates and have been holding hands in public since the second one. They’ve made out twice, and outside of that they’ve kissed eight times (not that she’s counting). They’re definitely having sex tonight, she’s wearing good underwear and she’s in the safe part of her cycle and she has given Diggle very, very strict instructions to not-call-except-in-the-event-of-the-actual-hellmouth and now they’re in her apartment, and Barry is holding her tight and kissing her.

She feels sort of giddy, actually. And she’s taller than him in heals which is making the angles of this whole thing a little awkward.

“Felicity,” he whispers, “um – I didn’t – exactly – come up here for a glass of water.”

“Yeah. I know.”

And then they’re both giggling like school children.

“Okay, good,” he says, sounding genuinely relieved. “But also I am actually kind of sorta thirsty so maybe can I – ”

“Right, yes, sure – ”

She tows him into the kitchen where, fortunately, the light works – and has a chance to see that she’s got her lipstick all over his face.

“Come here,” she wipes it off with her sleeve, and he giggles again, nervous energy coming off him like heat. “The glasses are in that cupboard – I’m just gonna go, um – ”

She gestures vaguely toward the bathroom and scurries away, kicking off her heals as she goes.

In the bathroom she examines herself in the mirror before deciding to remove the rest of her lipstick. The eyeliner… can stay – it’s waterproof, should be fine, right?

“Felicity?” Barry’s voice penetrates from outside.

She puts her head out. “Yeah?”

He looks sheepishly out at her from the kitchen. “I broke your glass.” He’s sucking a bloody thumb, she realises. “And then I tried to clean it up but, um…”

_Dork_ , she thinks, suddenly forcefully fond of him. “Do you need a bandaid?”

“Yeah.”

She fetches him one.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, as he adjusts it on his thumb, “this was stupid – do you want me to go?”

“What?” Her opinion of that course of action must be clear from her tone because he smiles again, warmer this time. “No.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Do you wanna stay over, Barry?” She asks, softly, just to make her intentions absolutely 100% clear, because let’s be honest he’s worse at this than she is and she’s not exactly the smoothest flirt alive. She had probably better be explicit or this could take all night.

(And there are other things she’d rather be doing all night).

He looks so relieved she could kiss him, but she doesn’t – waits just long enough for him to say, “yes – please – I mean, if you want me to – I could – that would be – ”

Then she kisses him.

In her bedroom, in her bed, she climbs on top of him so she can unbutton his shirt and kiss his collarbones, which are delicate and beautiful – she touches them carefully, and he kisses her temple, running his fingers through her hair, whilst she’s stroking his beautiful collarbones and thinking about how she needs to memorise all of this. It’ll pass too quickly, she knows it will.

They slither around, semi-clothed, pressed together, all hands and mouths.

His hands pass down her front, skate over her chest, rest on her hips, travel lower, his fingers finding the hem of her skirt.

“Can I – ” he speaks hesitantly, “can I take off your dress – would that be – okay?”

“Yes.” She nods and he grins, bright and giddy in the half light from her bedside lamp.

He draws the hem up to her waist and she has to sit up and help him with the clasp at the back of her neck and then he lifts the whole thing off her in one deft, fluid motion of polyester-cotton blend and –

“Oh,” he whispers, “wow.” He touches her brastrap, reverently. “I like your – I mean – you look…”

“Barry.” She wants to keep him, forever – she specifically wants to keep the way he’s looking at her right now and frame it and put it on her wall so she can see it every day. “Take off your pants.”

“Yes – right – good plan.”

The belt buckle proves a momentary challenge because it’s new and stiff and neither of them have especially steady hands anymore.

“I should have just worn pants that fit – but none of them fit properly, I can never find pants that fit properly, I’m so skinny one time my mom said if she hugged me too tight she’d get a paper cut – ”

“Barry.”

“Sorry,” he keeps looking at her and getting distracted, his face flushed.

The belt finally gives and his pants are made short work of – he’s wearing batman briefs. She giggles.

“Seriously?”

“What, you want me to wear Arrow ones?”

“There’s Arrow merchandise now?”

“Not officially, but like – if you check etsy and stuff. I mean, not that I check – ”

She’s sitting cross legged next to him, giggling, as he kicks off his pants – he has these long, stringy, hairy legs and his socks don’t match. His collarbones are still beautiful, though. Sh touches the nearest one again impulsively, trailing her fingers over it because she can. She wouldn’t have been able to do this last week, she’d have been too scared and he’d probably have jumped out of his skin – but now he just leans down and kisses her knuckles.

She’s going to lose tack of how many times they’ve kissed now, she thinks, vaguely, as he carefully pushes he back onto the bed and touches his mouth to her neck, her shoulder, her bra strap. Nine – ten – eleven –

_Stop counting – stop counting, god._ He’s working his way down from her throat to her chest, and he’s got just the vague hint of a five o’clock shadow happening that she can feel against her skin.

“I’m gonna,” Barry’s panting, glancing up at her, “if it’s okay, can I just – ”

His fingers are tentatively curling around the edge of he bra – if he pulls just a little he’ll expose her enough to do what she suspected he was planning on doing the moment he took her dress off, and she nods.

“Yes – yeah – it’s okay – ”

He closes his mouth around her nipple and it feels like the best thing since birthday cake, since fireworks and dim sum and chocolate. She squirms, pushes her fingers through his hair – full of sweat, she realises, his scalp’s so hot his hair’s getting damp.

“Oh,” she mumbles, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “ _God_.”

He flashes her a quick, distinctly smug looking grin, before switching sides. Her stomach flutters – because he’s doing something with his tongue that he’s absolutely going to be doing elsewhere on her body too (if she has to order him to or if he’s smart enough to get there by himself he’s definitely  _going there_. She suspects he’s probably smart enough but you never know with some guys). And wow this is going to be fun.

He keeps at her chest until she gets too sensitive to stand it anymore, gently pushing him away and gasping for breath – “Barry – ”

“You okay?” He looks concerned, but she nods, hastily.

“Just – this should probably – come off – now,” she sits up, tugging awkwardly at her bra.

“Right, yeah,” he nods, catching his breath before helping her – surprisingly gentle and proficient at unclasping it. She pulls it off and he looks at her like  _that_  again, his pupils dilating, his breath catching. “[I](mailto:I@m)'m – I'm gonna go back to kissing you now like – quite a lot.”

She laughs, giddy and nervous as he does, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her mouth and then the rest of her face, he jaw, her neck. She strokes his ears – they’re little and delicate too, like his collarbones.

“Barry.”  
  


“Yeah?”

“You’re going down on me, right? Like, soon?”

He glances up at her. “Oh – yeah. Obviously. I mean, if you want – ”

“I – definitely – yes, that’s a good plan. Is what I’m saying.”

“Okay.” He grins, ducks his head to hide the way he’s blushing.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”  _Perfect, gorgeous dork_ , she thinks, reaching to tweak his nose.

He lays his hands on her hips. She can feel where the bandaid is on his thumb as he carefully hooks his fingers around the waistband of the cute pink lacey panties she put on that morning, with the specific intent of him ripping them off her twelve hours later (and what do you know he’s right on time).

They don’t talk whilst he pulls them off – probably best because a) he has other things he needs to be doing with his mouth, immediately and b) what the hell would they say to each other? But he does glance up, briefly, and bite his lip at her – she wants to reach for him and kiss him but she also doesn’t want to distract him so she pouts and he laughs.

As he leans down and kisses his way up her thigh, she curls her toes to try to ground herself.

He touches her with his fingers first, carefully, shyly stroking just enough to open her up. She tries not to whimper because god that’s embarrassing, but she pushes back against him just enough to make sure he knows that  _that – that right there – more of that_ , _please_.

“You’re already – ” he says, somewhere between the juncture of her hip and her thigh, “you’re so – oh, god, Felicity…”

And then he tastes her, and that’s it game over wow she is not going to last even a minute he’s fantastic.

She sinks her fingers into his hair and shudders, swallowing hard as he uses his fingers, his tongue – sucks just gently, just enough –

“Barry – ” bless him, he doesn’t stop, “ _Barry_  – ”

It happens so fast it takes them both by surprise. A quick, rippling sensation and she shivers and gasps his name one last time and then she comes and – she’s giggling. And for some reason he’s apologising, sitting up between her legs and wiping his mouth, looking sheepish.

She grabs his arm and yanks him down on top of her so that she can kiss him because she wants to taste him, too.

“You liked that, then?”  
  


“Yeah.” She nips his bottom lip, deliciously boneless and drowsy and warm now, snuggling up to him. “You – um – you should feel free to do that as often as you like.”

He snorts, smoothing her hair back off her face. “If I did that I’d – we might have a problem getting anything else done. Ever.”

Oh good god she’s definitely keeping him. “I’m sure we’d find a way.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, smiling crookedly, “maybe. You know. Eventually.”

Then they’re giggling again, foreheads pressed together, and kissing, lots of kissing, soft, sweet, warm kisses and oh, wow.

She tugs off his batman briefs, and there’s a quick scramble for condoms – she has an unopened packet in her bathroom bought last week and he has brought a handful tucked into his pants pocket and his wallet – and then everything after that is this scrambling, warm, clumsy heat between them.

He forgets to take his socks off – she doesn’t realise until after they’ve had sex for the second time (his recovery times are… impressive) and he’s panting against her shoulder and she’s lazily drawing her fingers up over his back, and stroking her feet along his calves.

“Your socks are still on.”

“Oh – right,” He glances up, embarrassed, “yeah they totally are.”

“It’s fine. It’s cute.”

“Yeah, my odd socks are totally cute,” he rolls his eyes, looking down at their feet, “they’re not even the same length. I think you’re winning here, presentation-wise.”

She giggles, nudges him. “You don’t do too badly. I mean the batman briefs were great.”

“And I’m wearing really expensive aftershave,” he nudges her back. “Like, so expensive my wallet may actually have screamed in pain when I paid for it. And for what it’s worth I spent half an hour obsessing about my hair in the bathroom of a Starbucks before our date.”

Felicity giggles. “Really?”

“Yup.”

“Well, it looks great. Though I think I messed it up,” she pats his head, gently, and he laughs. “And you do smell nice.”

“Thanks,” he replies, “I like your toes, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Mm,” he kisses her again, soft and sweet. “Okay but the socks feel weird now I’ve noticed them, so I’m taking them off.”

He sits up, and she watches the way his pale, bony back curves as he leans forward, laboriously tugging his socks off, and thinks that she likes every inch of him.

She almost falls asleep, huddled up with him as the conversation peters out and she gets used to the feel of him stroking her hair, breathing against her skin – but then she remembers that she has to take her contacts out.

She grabs his shirt to wrap herself in against the cold as she staggers out of bed to the bathroom.

He follows her, like a naked, shivering puppy, blinks at her from the bathroom door for a moment then says, “hey, do you want a glass of water?”

“Uh – yeah. Actually.”

“Cool,” he pads off and she hears him in the kitchen again – this time he manages not to break anything.

She comes in with her glasses on, finds him downing a pint of tap water. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “just needed something wet, so – ”

Then he realises what he’s said and they’re both sputtering sleep-deprived hysterical giggles. She wraps her arms around him – his skin is cold. “Come on, you. Back to bed.”

“Okay,” he tweaks her glasses.

And afterwards they huddle together under her duvet, on the fresh sheets she changed that morning. He drapes his arm around her shoulder and sighs against her skin and falls asleep. She wakes and sleeps and wakes up again through the night – the unfamiliar body in her bed makes sleep a tricky business, even though he’s a friendly presence. He reaches for her sometimes, drowsily asking if she’s okay, and she says yes because she is. She suspects part of her subconscious is just checking, making sure he’s still there.

She wakes up properly, automatically, around seven, tangled up with him, and when he opens his eyes he grins at her, like it’s the first time he’s ever seen her.

“Oh,” he whispers, kissing her nose, “ _wow_.”


End file.
